


Something I Could Never Have

by Feralious



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Break Up, Developing Relationship, Domestic, Established Relationship, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fuckbuddies, Future Fic, M/M, No Incest, Partner Swapping, Pillow Talk, Relationship Issues, Scott is a Good Friend, Sexual Fantasy, Slow Build, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 10:36:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1895901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feralious/pseuds/Feralious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Derek are struggling to save their crumbling relationship. They think acting out each other's sexual fantasies might help them work things out. And everyone in Beacon Hills knows that if you're looking to spice up your sex life, you go to Peter Hale.</p><p>Now Stiles is not so sure what he wants anymore. He'd wanted to try to save what he had with Derek, and sleeping with Peter was supposed to be a one-time thing.</p><p>But after being with the other Hale he also wants <i>more</i>, and if Derek isn't okay with that, maybe it's time to finally let him go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something I Could Never Have

**Author's Note:**

> We were talking about swinging in class over nine months ago and I laughed at myself because the idea of Peter being the go-to guy if you wanted to spice up your sex life presented itself to me and then when I started writing it down as sort of a prompt the thing basically wrote itself.
> 
> It took a little longer to actually finish it but hey it's done now, and I'm quite proud of the result. My first serious TW fic and my longest published fic to date.

“Derek, we need to talk.”

A huff comes as a response and Stiles sighs, rolling his eyes. Really, he should’ve expected this. “I’m serious.”

“Fine,” Derek snaps. “What do we need to talk about?”

“This,” he says, seeking Derek’s eyes. “Us.”

“What about us.”

“Come on Derek, work with me…”

Derek stubbornly shakes his head, looking out the window, an angry frown on his face that barely conceals his fear.

Stiles’ hand moves over the table, settling on top of the other man’s. Gives it a slight squeeze. “Look at me, Derek. If we keep going like this…” He bites his lip, finally drawing his attention. Derek’s eyes look sad when they meet his.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispers. “Stiles, I don’t –”

“You’re not going to,” he reassures him. “But we… we need to do something. Come up with a way to fix things. Because this doesn’t work.”

Derek looks down, looks at their hands. Interlaces his fingers with Stiles’. “Okay,” he breathes. “Okay.”

*

A few days pass since Stiles had addressed their issues. Derek seemed to be trying harder, tried to pay more attention to him. At one point he’d even asked him how his day had been and Stiles had laughed, kissing him, eventually dragging him into the bedroom.

Stiles wanted to say that the sex had been amazing, that it had been like the first time they hooked up, but as he’s staring at Derek’s back, his own heart rate coming down, he finds himself thinking that it might take more than just talking to improve things. Derek was still closed off. He needed to find a way to make him open up, let him see the darkest depths of his soul. Stiles needed Derek to trust him, to realize that he didn’t need to be insecure around him. Because quite frankly, it was frustrating to know that the one person he loved this much still kept up his guard around him, and he was tired of trying to break it down.

He stretches out a hand, fingers trailing over his bicep. Derek rolls over to face him, a questioning look on his face. “What?”

“I want you to tell me something,” Stiles says quietly, hand moving to brush through Derek’s hair, coming to rest on his neck. “But first off, I need you to know you can trust me.”

“I trust you,” Derek breathes, and it hurts Stiles to see that he thinks he means it, when the fear in his eyes only intensifies.

“Alright,” he says nonetheless, because this is as much as he’s going to get. “I want to know… do you have any fantasies that you would want to act out? Sexual fantasies, I mean,” he adds, and the look on Derek’s face changes, like he’s unsure he’s just heard him right.

“Do I have any sexual fantasies,” he repeats, looking him straight in the eye. Stiles smiles despite himself, nods.

“Yeah. I’ve never heard you say anything on the subject.”

“That’s because I don’t have them,” Derek mumbles, taking Stiles’ hand and removing it from his neck before he rolls onto his back, looking at the ceiling.

“Come on man,” Stiles says, propping himself up on his elbows to look at him. “There’s gotta be _something_ that you secretly lust after. I mean I know you’re a werewolf and all but part of you is still human.”

“Stiles, I really don’t…”

“I already told you, you can trust me!” He’s getting angry now, so fed up with Derek’s efforts to keep him out. He _knows_ , knows there’s gotta be something that Derek for some reason feels too embarrassed about to tell him. And he doesn’t have to be. Not around him.

Derek turns his head, looks at him. “Fine,” he mutters. “Alright. So maybe… maybe I wouldn’t _mind_ if you…”

“If I what?” Stiles asks, almost stumbling over the words, his curiosity immediately getting the better of him. He wonders what it could be, what could be so strange that Derek never brought it up.

“Are you gonna let me finish?”

“Sorry, sorry, you were saying…”

“Maybe I wouldn’t mind if you had… sex… with someone else. Other than me.” Derek studies the look on his face before hastily adding, “As long as I get to watch.”

A shiver runs through his spine at the idea – in a warm, _good_ way. He doesn’t know what he’d expected, knowing Derek it could’ve ranged from trying out a simple sex toy to joining the Mile High Club, but this… he likes this.

He licks his lips, excitement simmering in his stomach at the revelation. “Who do you have in mind?” he asks, _whispers_ , not daring to think that this could actually become a reality.

Derek’s face relaxes, although he still doesn’t seem entirely comfortable with the idea that he just admitted this to him. Stiles wonders how long he’s been thinking about this.

“Someone we’re both comfortable with,” he tells him. “Do you… do you know anyone?”

Lying there, staring into Derek’s dark eyes, he immediately feels a surge of arousal flash through him. Yes. Yes, he knows someone.

Truth be told, he’d already heard stories from his friends – stories that had made him aroused just hearing them, even if they had left out all the juicy details. Because word around town was that Peter Hale could give you the best time you’d ever have. And Stiles had been curious to see if that was true for a while now, because _gosh_ have you seen Peter? Ever spoken with him? The man was drop dead gorgeous and with a very sharp tongue. Oh, Stiles doesn’t even want to _imagine_ what that tongue could do to him…

He doesn’t tell Derek. Instead he tells him he’ll think about it.

*

They’re in the next week of trying to actively salvage their relationship when Stiles comes up to Derek, tells him he has someone in mind. Derek looks at him, slightly curious, though Stiles thinks there might also be a slight regret over sharing his secret with him.

“Who is it?” His voice is low and gruff, and Stiles gets goose bumps thinking that maybe Derek doesn’t regret telling him at all.

He still hesitates to tell him though, because _well_ , he could take this the wrong way. He gets flustered, Derek just looking at him, until eventually he decides that hey, Derek had asked him to think of someone, and this was easily Stiles’ first choice.

“It’s Peter,” he says, boldly returning his gaze.

Derek looks absolutely shocked, which would’ve been funny except for the fact that he also looks like he is about ready to kill his uncle. Stiles thinks that in another universe, he actually might.

“It’s no big deal, okay?” he tells him, throwing his hands up in exasperation when Derek still looks like he can’t believe he _just said that_. And Stiles would’ve agreed, had he not been mulling over this for the past few days, and the more he’d thought about, the more the idea had appealed to him. “Derek, it’s just that Peter is a _professional_ at this stuff. And you know, considering that he’s your uncle and all,” Derek shoots him a look that says ‘you know he’s my uncle and yet you still suggested him are you fucking crazy’ but Stiles continues without missing a beat, “at least that way we both know that this will never go beyond anything other than a one night stand.”

Derek seems to have recovered his ability to speak and he spits at him, “Can’t you think of anyone else? _Anyone_?”

Even if Stiles could, he didn’t want to. Derek had asked him to choose and this was his choice. Just like he now chooses to be stubborn and dig his heels in. “Derek,” he says, “I’m all for working through our problems and letting you have this, but if you’re going to watch me with someone, I want to have a say in who that someone is. After all, it’s me he’ll be screwing.”

It’s obvious Derek really wants to go against it, but he knows that Stiles won’t back down if this is what he wants. Their relationship has already been fraying at the edges and they both know that if he is too adamant about Stiles changing his mind, he could actually break what was left of them. And so he eventually nods, now with that look of regret definitely present in his eyes.

*

Stiles had already gotten his hands on Peter’s number when he was still waiting to tell Derek. They meet over coffee and Stiles makes his offer to Peter, who graciously accepts. The fact that his nephew is involved doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest, though that might be because they establish some rules.

“It’s just sex,” Stiles says, fingers playing with his cup of coffee as he doesn’t look Peter in the eye but rather focuses on a point above his shoulder. “One time. You and me, with Derek watching.”

Peter smiles at him, fingers around his own cup calm and steady. It hits Stiles how he truly seems to be in his element here.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

Stiles has no doubt he does.

*

The nerves are eating at him the entire week leading up to the moment when he opens the door, finding Peter on their doorstep. Stiles awkwardly takes in the sight for a second, thinking _oh god this is really happening_ as the tingling feeling of anticipation settles in his abdomen, and then he gestures for Peter to come inside – only to turn around and bump into Derek, whom he hadn’t heard walking up behind him. He looks up to see him glaring daggers at Peter, who either doesn’t notice or simply doesn’t care.

Stiles takes Peter’s coat and nudges Derek in the side to get Peter a drink, but he doesn’t acknowledge him, doesn’t even move. He seems to make an effort to keep himself positioned between his uncle and his boyfriend.

When Stiles realizes this, the feeling in his stomach intensifies; he will only be able to keep that up for so long. Any minute now it’ll just be him and Peter, and Derek will let him have this.

How exactly do they go about getting there, anyway?

Stiles’ gaze flickers back to Peter, unsure of what to do. Should he ask Peter how he’s doing? Give him a tour of the apartment? Make some coffee?

Peter catches him looking, and just like that the familiar smile is back on the man’s face again, reminding him all too well that he’s done this before. “Shall we take this to the bedroom?” he states gently, voice soft and confident.

Stiles nods, swallowing, turning around to lead the way. Two sets of footsteps follow behind him and he can almost feel Derek’s breath in his neck, he’s that close.

Just before they enter the bedroom Stiles reaches down, seeking Derek’s hand, finding it and giving it a light squeeze to assure him that this is okay. He’s relieved when Derek returns the gesture, even if it takes a few seconds, affirming that this is what he wants, too.

Once inside Stiles turns to face them, first Derek, eyes then wandering over to Peter. “What… what should we do now?” he asks. His voice sounds slightly shaky, but he doesn’t know if that’s because of the nerves or the excitement.

“Well, you can start by taking off your clothes,” Peter simply says, nodding towards the shirt Stiles is wearing.

Stiles nods again, letting out a breath. “Okay.” He fumbles with the buttons, fingers not quite working with him.

“Do you want me to help you?”

Stiles glances up at Peter, but before he can even think about an answer Derek is growling from his other side. “He can do it himself.”

Peter just shrugs, working on his own shirt. Silence settles in the room as clothes are being shed.

When Stiles is down to his boxers he asks, “Uh, you want me to…”

Peter grins, demonstrates by taking off his own. “Go ahead,” he says. When he turns to look at Derek he finds him still fully dressed, sending him a dark and brooding stare. “Are you sure you’re okay with this, dear nephew?” he says suavely.

Derek gives a sharp nod, mouth formed in a thin line. Everything about him speaks ‘let’s just get this over with’.

Peter chuckles, knowing that even if the idea still seems uncomfortable to Derek now, he will undoubtedly change his mind once he gets to work with Stiles.

He moves to sit on the bed, Stiles quickly following suit to sit beside him. Peter looks at him, eyes moving from his face to his bare chest and back up, shutting out Derek from here on out, and asks, “Can I kiss you?”

Stiles laughs awkwardly, nerves now positively racing through him. “I don’t know, _can_ you?”

“I’m going to take that as a yes,” Peter whispers, leaning in and cupping his cheek to kiss him.

The first few kisses are gentle, careful, but then Peter starts getting serious, deepening the kiss, slowly sliding a hand up Stiles’ thigh before using slightly more force to push the younger man onto the bed, hovering over him. He’s already drawn a moan out of him and intends on getting many more – the sound was delicious, and he can only imagine what he would sound like when he makes him fall apart, cry out his name.

Hands start to wander and the fingers on his upper leg move to more intimate places, Stiles shivering under his very touch. At this point he’s fairly certain he picks up a sound in the corner of the room, the sound of jeans being unzipped, a slight snarl rolling over lips. He smirks, knowing he’s already living up to his reputation, but he’s going to give it his very best anyway.

After all, that’s what he’d promised.

*

His encounters were usually a one-time thing, and this one wasn’t going to be any different, so he makes sure to remember every single detail. He memorizes the sight of the man beneath him, the gasps and pants he draws from him, the way his hands feel roaming over his body. He’s so focused on Stiles that he completely forgets about Derek, never realizing – never _caring_ – that they’ve successfully fulfilled his fantasy, never hearing the grunts that sound from the corner when he gets off on watching them. Instead he’s entranced by his nephew’s boyfriend, the way he falls apart underneath him when he eventually pushes him over the edge, kissing him as he does so.

Stiles deepens the kiss when Peter finds his own release, and for a second he forgets that he actually isn’t _his_.

It all seems to be over far too quickly. He collapses next to Stiles, chest heaving, trying to get his breathing under control. He almost feels the urge to close his eyes and fall asleep with him. But before he can even entertain the thought there’s a dark presence standing next to them and he rolls over to see Derek.

He smiles faintly and gets up without another word, picking up his clothes from the floor and disappearing into the bathroom. When he’s dressed again and exits he finds Derek and Stiles lying on the bed, facing each other, Derek’s arms possessively wrapped around Stiles’ naked figure, a content smile playing on the young man’s face.

Peter leaves quietly, thinking that of all the good times he’s had – and he’s had many – this one is pretty high in ranking.

Shame it wouldn’t be repeated.

*

A few weeks go by since that night and he hasn’t heard from Stiles or Derek. Neither surprises him – he and Derek hadn’t been on great speaking terms before, and he didn’t think he liked him much better after he did what he couldn’t do – make Stiles feel better than he’s ever done before.

Speaking of Stiles, he’d expected he wouldn’t be hearing from him anytime soon. After all, he’d only sought him out when he needed him, and now he no longer did. Still, there was perhaps a tiny part of Peter that had hoped he’d look him up again.

And then one day he does.

It’s in the form of a text, and it’s a short one, but it holds a promise of more. “We need to talk,” it says, and Peter meets him for coffee, the same place they met up before.

He’s immaculately dressed, as always, already sitting at the table with two coffees in front of him when Stiles enters. He makes his way over, sits down and says, “Hi, thanks for meeting with me on such short notice.”

“It’s no problem,” Peter says nonchalantly, nudging the coffee towards him. “So what can I do you for?”

Stiles is fidgeting again, fingers playing with his coffee cup. Peter notices he’s nervous, but it’s in quite a different way from before. Last time they were here Stiles had been eager, dipping his toe into unknown waters, not scared but excited to see where it would lead him. This time he doesn’t look curious. In fact, he seems rather dejected, though he tries to hide it, does it quite well. He would be able to fool most people, but Peter has seen Stiles without inhibitions; he _knows_ something is on Stiles’ mind, something that’s really bothering him.

“I’ve been talking with Derek.”

Ah, there it is.

Peter raises an eyebrow. “He’s never been the talkative type. Must be serious,” he says, taking a sip from his coffee.

“It is.” Stiles sighs. “I don’t know if you noticed –” Peter has “– but things haven’t been going very well between Derek and me over the past few weeks… months, more like it.”

He nods, waiting for him to continue.

“I think he’s… he’s jealous over what happened between…” Stiles’ voice gets quieter as he continues, “between you and me.”

Peter can’t help the smirk tugging at his lips, but he doesn’t think Stiles notices.

“Even if he knows it’ll never happen again,” Stiles adds, eyes averted to his coffee cup.

Peter speaks up now, voice low and sultry. “Do you _want_ it to never happen again?”

Stiles glances up, his eyes already betraying him before he actually speaks the words. “No.”

Peter looks at him, gaze calculating. “We agreed this was a one-time thing,” he says, like this wasn’t up for discussion, when in fact it was anything but.

“I know,” Stiles interjects hastily. “And it was. I just…”

“Want to do it again.”

Stiles bites his lip. “Please don’t tell Derek.”

Peter shakes his head. “Whatever we discuss about our arrangement stays between us. But,” he continues, seeking eye contact, which Stiles denies him, “does this mean that you want to do this _without_ my nephew?”

Stiles’ eyes meet his and again Peter already knows the answer. “Yes,” he breathes.

“Do you want him to know?”

Stiles takes a nervous gulp of his coffee, the hot liquid appearing to burn his tongue judging by the narrowing of his eyes, but he doesn’t flinch. “He should know,” he says, slightly hoarse.

Peter watches him, notices how Stiles is now finally looking back at him, trying to find confidence for what he’s about to do when he gets home.

“I’ll… I’ll ask him if he’d be okay with that.”

“And if he’s not?”

Stiles’ eyes are clouded with regret, like he already knows what Derek will say. “In that case I can’t.”

Peter nods, understanding, gaze drifting away from him. He must admit that he’s slightly disappointed; and, if he’s _really_ honest with himself, that he hopes Derek will give Stiles permission.

*

The next time they meet for coffee Stiles is less jittery, less jumpy. He doesn’t greet Peter this time, instead he just slides into his seat and says, “He said no.”

Peter can’t help the mild pang of disappointment shooting through him. Stiles doesn’t appear to be very upset though. He wonders why.

“It doesn’t seem to bother you very much,” he says, head slightly cocked to the side, trying to figure him out.

“Because,” Stiles says, shrugging as he returns his gaze. “It didn’t really bother me that he said no. I didn’t care. He could’ve said yes or no and I still would’ve wanted to do this.” He takes a deep breath to calm himself and says, “I didn’t care if it would hurt his feelings if I slept with you again. I’m pretty sure that means we’re over.”

Peter holds back the grin that is lurking beneath the surface, asks him, “So did you break up with him?”

Stiles’ eyes turn away. “Not yet.” They’re back on his face. “But I’m going to.”

Peter smiles at him, gets up and takes his coffee with him. “Give me a call when you do.”

Stiles smiles back, a bit shyly. “I will.”

*

Stiles calls him later that night, tells him, “I have a bit of a problem.” When Peter asks him what’s wrong, he tells him, “Derek’s taking it pretty hard and I think it’s better if I leave him alone… but I don’t really have anywhere to go.”

“Come over here,” Peter offers, biting his lip on the other side of the line when he realizes he’s actually just invited one of his partners over to his home – something he’s never done before. His house is his own personal place, and he likes to keep his outside activities outside of the comfort of his own home. But he’s invited Stiles over and even if he could take it back, he wouldn’t.

Stiles mutters something about not wanting to intrude, but Peter waves away his concerns. “Just come over,” he says.

“Peter…” Stiles sounds apprehensive.

“What?”

“I’m not coming over to have sex with you, alright.”

He blinks, hadn’t even considered that possibility. “That’s okay,” he says. “Just pack up some things. I’ll prepare the guest bedroom.”

*

Stiles stays with him that night. Peter is very nice about the whole thing, again and again stating he’s welcome, saying to come to him if he needs anything when he shows him to his room.

He wakes up to the smell of breakfast in the morning. He finds Peter in the kitchen, reading the newspaper, drinking coffee, another mug on the other side of the table. Stiles watches him from the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, can’t help but be curious.

This is Peter Hale, the man he’s barely had any personal conversations with, the man he’s fucked with his boyfriend watching, the man he still knows so little about.

And he’s watching him in his personal environment, where he has to be no one but himself. No masks to put up. No charming smiles and feigned interest to keep up an appearance. It’s weird to see him in a T-shirt and sweatpants, when he’s used to him being ever well-dressed. There’s stubble covering his cheeks indicating he hasn’t shaved yet and his hair is mussed, like he’s rolled straight out of bed.

It’s nice to see him like this.

The newspaper rustles and Stiles finds his gaze being met. He blinks, unaware how long he’s been standing like this, how long Peter has known. He quickly makes his way over, sitting down on the other side of the table, curling his fingers around the coffee mug in front of him.

“How’d you sleep?” Peter asks, folding up the newspaper and putting it aside.

“Great,” he answers. It’s true. He’d expected to lose sleep over his breakup with Derek, but truth be told, he hadn’t slept this well in ages. It was like a burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

Peter looks at him, grins. “Good to hear. You hungry?” he asks as he gets up from his seat.

Stiles nods, then vehemently shakes his head. “You, uh, you really don’t have to make breakfast for me,” he says hastily. “Really, you’ve already done so much –”

Peter laughs, and Stiles realizes that although he’s seen him smile, grin, mostly smirk, this is the first time he’s ever heard him laugh.

It’s weird, but at the same time very natural.

“That’s alright, it’s just leftovers from my own breakfast.”

Stiles wants to argue but Peter’s already at the stove, and he’s just too preoccupied with trying to process this new, domestic version of Peter Hale to go against him.

When Peter sets his plate in front of him Stiles notices that it’s pretty full, certainly not filled with just leftovers, implicating that Peter’s already taken the liberty of cooking breakfast before he was even awake.

He doesn’t know how to feel about that. He doesn’t want to bother the man who’d been so gracious about offering him a place to sleep, but he also doesn’t want to seem ungrateful.

He starts eating, Peter returning to his seat to drink his coffee, but before he manages to swallow his last bite he blurts out, “Why are you doing this for me?”

Peter looks up, frowns. “Doing what?”

“This,” Stiles gestures around the kitchen, “all of this. I know I asked you if I could crash here, even though I really shouldn’t have, but now you’re cooking me breakfast?”

He brings down his mug, eyes on the table for a moment before he looks at him and simply says, “Maybe I feel I’m a little responsible for you being here.”

“Huh?”

Peter shrugs. “Maybe I feel like if I hadn’t come between you and Derek, you might still be together, and you wouldn’t have been forced to leave your place.”

Stiles is dumbfounded. “Wha – seriously, this has nothing to do with you,” he says, words tumbling out of his mouth. “Peter, you’re – this is not your fault. None of it. I _chose_ to leave home. I chose to leave _Derek_. We would’ve split up eventually, with or without your involvement!”

Peter gazes at him, taps his fingers on the table. “Still,” he says. “You can’t know that for sure.”

Stiles is getting irritated at this point. He’s an adult, damn it, and Peter didn’t bear responsibility for _his_ life and _his_ choices.

“Let me make one thing very clear,” he says. “You _can’t_ blame yourself for any of this. Look, I’m sorry for barging in on you, okay? I’ll be out of your hair in a second. Let me just get my stu–”

“ _No_.”

“No?”

Peter’s almost glaring at him now, palms flat on the table. “Stiles, I don’t feel _guilty_. I just feel like this is the least that I owe you.”

And there it is, a hint in his eyes that tells Stiles he isn’t telling him the truth, or at least the whole truth.

He gets up and makes for the door, Peter staying still in his seat, not turning to look at him, and then Stiles is out the door, slamming it shut behind him with more force than necessary.

They both know he’ll be back, but for now he needs to be alone and sort out his thoughts.

*

Peter looks up from the book he’d been reading when there’s knocking on the door. It’s already dark outside and he’d been wondering when he’d return.

When he opens the door Stiles doesn’t immediately head inside. Instead his gaze is pointed towards the ground, hands in his pockets.

Peter doesn’t say anything, remains standing in the doorway, waiting for him to speak.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles eventually murmurs as he looks up at him.

“It’s okay,” Peter says, stepping aside, holding the door open.

Stiles shuffles inside, scratches the back of his neck. “I guess maybe this has been harder on me than I thought.”

“That’s perfectly understandable,” Peter says.

“I was… I was hoping I could stay here for one more night,” Stiles says, glancing away.

“Didn’t I tell you you could stay as long as you wanted?”

Stiles bites his lip, refusing to meet Peter’s eyes. He looks tired, Peter notes.

“I’m going to bed,” he says. “I have work tomorrow, so… yeah.” He turns to take off towards his bedroom, but Peter grabs his shoulder to stop him, hand moving to his chin to force him to look at him.

“Stiles. Come sit down. Have a drink.”

The look in his eyes changes to resigned and Stiles obliges, sinks down onto the couch, Peter looking after him with what seems to be concern before he moves into the kitchen and gets them both a drink.

It’s difficult to get Stiles to start talking, but once he starts he doesn’t stop. Everything he’s kept bottled up during the time he was with Derek now finds its way out, and Peter goes from nodding sympathetically to reaching out and providing comforting touches, even wiping away his tears when it all becomes too much for Stiles to handle.

He doesn’t know how it happens, but at some point Stiles finds Peter’s hands on the sides of his neck, his face real close to his, a look of compassion apparent in his eyes, like he just wants to take away his pain. And Stiles doesn’t even think about it, just leans in, brushing his lips against his, feeling like he needs to _do_ this.

Peter allows him, kisses him back, reciprocating when Stiles deepens the kiss, but when there’s a hand on his inner thigh he pulls back.

Stiles takes in a shaky breath, thinking that maybe he shouldn’t have done that, but he doesn’t _regret_ it, not in the slightest.

“Shit, was that a bad idea?” he asks. Peter’s hands are still on his neck, thumbs on his cheeks, and there’s a look in his eyes that Stiles can’t quite identify.

“I need you to tell me why you want to do this,” Peter says.

“Does it matter?” Stiles retorts, looking a little defiantly.

“ _Yes_ , it does. I don’t want you to do this just to get back at Derek.”

“Why not? Who says I didn’t let you fuck me to do that in the first place?”

Peter’s hands lose their grip on him and he just stares at him for a few seconds. “Is that true?” he asks, like he can’t quite believe it.

Stiles can’t believe it, either. “No… I don’t know. Fuck, Peter, I really wanted things to work out… but maybe I was just being naïve.”

“Not naïve,” Peter says. “I get it. You loved him. You weren’t ready to let that go.”

Stiles reaches out, leans in, trails fingers over Peter’s jaw. “Then help me be ready,” he whispers, the words ghosting over Peter’s lips, his other hand resuming its place on his thigh. “I _want_ this, Peter, I told you before…”

At this Peter decides that you know what, Stiles is right. This _is_ his life, and only _he_ is responsible for his decisions. And if this is what he wants, he won’t be the one to say no.

Peter kisses him, doesn’t object when Stiles drags him closer, does what he says when Stiles tells him to take him to his bedroom.

This time couldn’t have been more different from their first encounter. Peter lets Stiles take the lead, lets him set the pace, how far he wants to take this. There is almost a franticness to Stiles’ actions, like he needs this more than anything in the world.

Last time had just been about sex, about living up to his reputation. Peter had done this so many times before, and even though it always felt good – it was why he kept doing it – that time it had felt _amazing_.

Really, it had felt like such a shame that they would only be doing it once, because the way he and Stiles had fit together was incredible. There was a chemistry, an understanding between the two of them that he’d rarely felt before, if ever. He’d actually resented Derek for being there, for taking Stiles from him right after he’d let him have him, if only for a moment.

And that was screwed up, wasn’t it? Because of course he would, because Derek had been Stiles’ _boyfriend_ at the time, and Peter had just been in it for the fun.

He looks at the man lying next to him, pulls the covers up over his naked shoulders, caresses his hair. His eyes are closed, but Peter can tell he’s not asleep. There is still a troubled look on his face, and he wishes he could take it away.

*

When he wakes up the next morning Stiles is already gone. He finds him in the kitchen, the smell of bacon and eggs in the air, mixing with the aroma of coffee. He smiles at Stiles’ back at the stove, sliding into his seat, newspaper already laid out for him.

“I see you’ve made yourself at home,” he says.

Stiles turns around, grinning. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No no, not at all, carry on.” Peter shakes his head, gesturing towards the stove. “It’s been a while since I’ve had anyone cook for me.”

The grin on Stiles’ face widens and he turns his back to him again, and Peter is in awe over how different he looks from last night. He knows he still has to deal with his problems, that Peter’s comfort had only been a temporary solution, but maybe he has somehow given him the courage, the confidence that he’ll be alright.

At least that’s what he hopes.

Peter hadn’t been lying when he said that he felt a little responsible for messing up Stiles’ life. Nor had he lied when he said he didn’t feel guilty. He agreed with Stiles, even if he’d implied he didn’t; he and Derek would’ve broken up sooner or later. He’d only helped to make him see that before he wasted any more time with his emotionally stunted nephew.

He _did_ neglect to tell Stiles why he was looking out for him. He wasn’t sure why, but somehow he had ended up caring about what happened to him. He wanted to make sure he was alright.

And yet he felt like that wasn’t even the real reason. In fact, he didn’t even know if there _was_ a reason he wanted him to stay.

He just wanted him to.

*

Stiles gets home from work right before dinnertime, and this time he doesn’t complain when Peter has already cooked dinner. Or, you know, got takeout, but it’s all the same to Stiles because it’s food and he’s hungry.

They settle in front of the TV, eat, talk for a bit, have a drink. Peter asks him about his day, Stiles asks what grown men actually do during the day if they don’t have a job. After a little back-and-forth – “You don’t actually _charge_ your clients for your ‘services’, right?” “If I did, you wouldn’t have been able to afford me” – Stiles wishes Peter goodnight and heads to bed.

The next day brings the same routine, and the one after that, too. Stiles doesn’t ask Peter again if it’s okay to stay, because he’s made it clear he was sincere about his offer, and he felt that if Peter would get sick of him he wouldn’t be above literally kicking him out. So before he knows it it’s been almost a week since he came to stay at his place, and Peter just treats him like he’s always lived with him. With Peter he doesn’t feel like he’s walking on eggshells all the time. He can say what he wants, doesn’t need to consider how Peter might interpret things. It’s just fun. It’s simple. Uncomplicated.

Neither of them ever brought up what had happened the night after they’d had their argument. It’s not because they feel ashamed or embarrassed; at least Stiles doesn’t, and he suspects Peter doesn’t, either. It just doesn’t come up, and Stiles doesn’t feel the need for it to. He likes the way things are now.

*

That Saturday they’re watching a movie, and they’ve both been quiet for the most part. It’s a comfortable silence, and every now and again Stiles is stealing glances at Peter. He still can’t believe he’s doing all this for him. Somehow he didn’t take him for a guy who often asked random persons he’s slept with to live with him.

Peter is a riddle, a paradox that Stiles isn’t sure he can ever understand. And yet, the way he’s sitting there, he just looks so _normal_.

This whole mess had started out as Stiles wanting to sleep with him again, but what had really pushed him to break it off with Derek was that in the end he’d realized that sleeping with someone else had been more for his own benefit than his.

He wondered if he and Derek might have worked things out if he’d chosen anyone other than Peter. Of course the fact that he was his uncle played a role in this, but Stiles was more concerned with something else – would he still have had that desire to sleep with that person again after that night if it hadn’t been him?

Because with Peter, it had felt like there was a magnetic force that kept pulling at him, a simmering feeling in his abdomen whenever he thought back to how it had felt to be touched by him, to how he had looked hovering over him, eyes speaking a lust that he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen in Derek’s.

Peter truly was a mystery, and Stiles was _entranced_.

The man doesn’t react, doesn’t move when Stiles places a hand on his leg, slowly slides it upwards. He looks at him, gauging his reaction. Peter doesn’t even spare him a glance; doesn’t make any attempt to push his hand away, not even when he gets really close to certain regions. He doesn’t say anything when Stiles gets off the couch and on his knees.

Stiles has him responding to his actions soon enough, takes immense delight in seeing the way Peter closes his eyes, tilts back his head. His lips are slightly parted, a half-suppressed groan rumbling from his throat at Stiles’ touch.

It’s the sexiest thing he’s ever heard.

*

This, too, is never spoken of again, but Stiles is now absolutely certain that there’s no way anything they’ll do will ever stay a one-time thing.

He actually makes sure of that himself.

Things happen again various times after that, and it isn’t always confined to the bedroom. Even without either of them bringing it up they seem to have come to an understanding – this is something they do, something they’re both comfortable with. Sometimes it helps Stiles unwind, makes him forget about the troubles plaguing his mind. Sometimes he’s just really in the mood for sex, and sex with Peter was always _fantastic_.

In the beginning it’s all Stiles, and Peter never says no. Stiles might have wondered if he even _wants_ to do this – were it not for the fact that Peter always returns his advances with such vigor as if he’d been waiting for him to make a move.

And then one night, when Stiles comes home from a particularly stressful day, slumps down on the couch and closes his eyes in frustration – Derek had come by at work, seeing as Stiles hadn’t been responding to any of his attempts to get in contact with him, and he just _really_ hadn’t wanted to deal with that – that changes. His eyes open at the feeling of strong, warm hands on his shoulders, a soft voice behind him saying, “You look like you had a rough day.”

“God, yes,” Stiles groans, closes his eyes again, sighing contently as fingers slowly rub his shoulders, failing to suppress a shudder when there’s warm, moist lips against his ear, his neck.

Fingers move to his chin and guide him to turn his head, mouth claiming his, and Stiles would’ve described the kiss as affectionate if he didn’t know Peter, if he didn’t know just how methodical and _sexual_ he could be.

But then again, there is something about him that just draws you in. Stiles knows that _Peter_ knows that he could just skip the entire foreplay and get right down to business; after all, that’s usually what Stiles does, too.

But the way he’s kissing him, the way his hand is lightly placed on his neck, it feels like he’s being careful, like he’s still looking for his boundaries, even if the amount of times they’ve already hooked up would soon be running into the double digits.

Stiles pulls back when he realizes this, stares at Peter when he looks at him questioningly.

He decides to make his point by yanking at the front of his shirt, silently telling Peter to climb over the back of the couch, which he does, and when Stiles is flat on his back underneath him Peter seems to get the hint. There’s a flash in his eyes that’s always there when things are about to heat up; that hot desire to make him fall apart.

And Stiles does.

With Peter, he always does, and he never wants it to end.

*

It seems to have set something free in Peter, because over the next week Stiles is no longer the one person to initiate things. However, unlike Peter, Stiles sometimes isn’t in the mood; sometimes his head is somewhere else, sometimes he just doesn’t want to.

Peter never needs to be told twice when Stiles shows no interest, never asks for an explanation, just goes about his business as if nothing had happened.

Stiles really appreciates that, and if he’s honest with himself, he hadn’t expected it. After all, he figures that sleeping with Peter could be his way of repaying the favor. A thank you for letting him stay, even if he’s first and foremost sleeping with Peter because he _wants_ to.

He thinks perhaps it is the only reasonPeter lets him stay. After all, he never says no. Never turns down the opportunity to get laid.

Stiles grins one night when he realizes they’ve essentially become fuckbuddies who live in the same house.

The arrangement could be worse.

At least, that’s what he thought then.

*

Usually they’d each go their own way after their messy encounters. Stiles would just drag himself to his own bed, falling asleep the second his head hit the pillow, utterly exhausted and satisfied with the events that had transpired just before.

Sometimes he would take a hot shower to get cleaned up first, get rid of the sweat and whatever else was sticking to his skin. Maybe he’d glance in the mirror, fingers trailing over bruises that Peter seems to have a fondness for leaving behind when he kisses his skin.

Other times, like now, Stiles doesn’t leave Peter’s bed afterwards, just stays there and falls asleep, and Peter doesn’t complain, never does.

Sometimes Stiles wakes up really close to Peter, face buried in his chest, the feeling of a lazy leg draped over him.

When this happens he always just pretends to be asleep for a little while longer, cherishing the moment.

It feels nice.

It feels comfortable.

He likes it. Perhaps even more than the actual sex itself.

That’s when he realizes that somewhere along the way he’s fallen for Peter, and the whole thing goes to hell.

*

Stiles is back to having sleepless nights, worrying that he’s caught in yet another relationship that is doomed to fail.

When that word first entered his head – _relationship_ – he’d groaned into the hands covering his face. This was _so_ not supposed to happen. He just got over one Hale, and now he’d developed feelings for _another_? How was this his life?

He’s biting his lower lip as he stares at the man opposite him, blissfully unaware eating dinner – Stiles had cooked tonight, spaghetti and meatballs – and he swears that he’s not going to do anything about it. Why mess up a good thing? It’s not like bringing it up will do him any good. He already has it all.

Telling Peter will only make things complicated. Make it awkward. No, Stiles has nothing to gain from telling him, so he doesn’t.

Even if being with him is starting to feel like torture, because even if he has it all, he still wants _more_.

*

One day Peter strikes up a conversation during dinner, and even though it feels like a punch to the gut, Stiles keeps a straight face as he’s painfully reminded of one simple fact.

No matter what has happened between them, to Peter this is all still just sex.

“Someone came up to me today,” the man says, eyes focused on his plate as he cuts his meat.

“Oh?” Stiles says around a mouthful of food.

Peter looks up, gives him a pointed look. Continues. “They said they were familiar with my reputation.” He grins. “Asked me if I was available.”

Stiles doesn’t answer at first, swallows. “What did you tell them?” Hopes Peter doesn’t notice the clenching of his jaw.

“Told them I had to think about it.”

Peter’s attention is turned back to his food again, frowning and looking back at Stiles when he asks him, “Why, do you want to get to know them better?”

He stares at him for a little while. “I’m not sure I’m available,” he then slowly says.

Stiles is prodding his food, not meeting his gaze. “What are you telling me for?”

“Thought I’d run it by you first.” Peter’s stare is unwavering; Stiles can feel it burning without seeing it.

“Why?” He’s just glad his voice doesn’t crack.

“Because for my arrangements to work all communication needs to be open,” Peter says, and it takes a moment for this to sink in.

Stiles licks his lips, his mouth having gone dry at this point. “I wasn’t aware we had an arrangement.”

“We don’t,” Peter simply says. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know what your opinion on me having sex with anyone other than you is.”

“Well,” Stiles tries to sound airy, but knows he fails; the squeak in his voice gives him away, “it’s your life, by all means, if you want to have sex with them, go right ahead.”

Peter looks at him, silent, thinking, but he doesn’t comment, just finishes his food. Stiles wants to take back his words and tell him that he doesn’t want him to, the thought of him sleeping with anyone else, even if it’s just sex, eating at him from the inside.

But the thought of telling him that is absolutely frightening, because then Peter would know that Stiles wanted him all to himself. And so he keeps his mouth shut, just eats his dinner in silence, the food suddenly tasting bland.

*

A few days later he receives a text from Peter that tells him he’ll be home late, seeing as he’s meeting up with the couple that had approached him. Stiles almost sets off the fire alarm because he burns the steaks he’d been cooking, distracted by the message, feeling sick to his stomach, suddenly losing all appetite.

He spends his night drinking and watching stupid reality shows, hoping that it will drive the images of Peter being with other people out of his mind.

He’s home earlier than he’d expected him. The man frowns slightly when he finds Stiles sprawled on the couch, empty bottle of booze in front of him, but he doesn’t comment on it, just loses his jacket and tie and changes the TV to the news channel.

Stiles wants nothing more than to just curl up against him, but despite being drunk he knows it wouldn’t comfort him. After all, to Peter, physical contact isn’t meant to be comforting, because he’ll offer it to just about anyone.

*

It takes Stiles a week to work up the courage to ask Peter how things went with the couple.

Peter quirks his eyebrows at him in response, a hint of a smile playing on his face. “I told them I couldn’t help them,” he says, calmly sipping his coffee.

Stiles is dumbfounded. “Why?” he manages, eventually realizing his mouth is hanging open and closing it.

Peter chuckles, looking up at him. “You weren’t okay with it.”

Stiles protests, can feel his face slightly reddening over being caught lying, and even worse, being caught caring this much about whom Peter slept with. Besides, he didn’t want Peter to refrain from doing things on his behalf. He would end up resenting him for it.

“Shit, Peter, I told you you could do whatever the hell you wanted. It shouldn’t matter whether or not I’m okay with it. If you want to sleep with them, sleep with them. It’s your life.”

He didn’t look him in the eye as he ranted, but when he finishes he does, finding Peter wearing a soft expression now, one of tenderness.

“You’re cute,” he says. “But I didn’t want to.”

Stiles wants to pursue the subject, ask him why it mattered that he wasn’t okay with Peter sleeping with anyone else. But he doesn’t.

He fears that if he does, Peter will admit to knowing how Stiles feels about him, and that that’s why he didn’t do it. Because he knows how much Stiles cares. And even though the idea of Peter knowing terrifies him, it’s comforting to think that if he does, thus far it hasn’t changed their relationship.

So instead he just sighs, trying to hide the way the corners of his mouth twitch upwards, a warm, happy feeling settling in his stomach. If he hadn’t fallen in love with Peter already, he would now.

 _Love_?

*

His longing grows over the following weeks after this realization has hit him, even though he tries to push it away. Being with Peter is now bringing him more pain than it should be worth, and despite how incredible being with him is, he knows he will only end up destroying himself.

He knows, because he’s already gone through this with Derek.

With one distinct difference though. Derek loved him, but was just unable to give him what he needed.

With Peter, it’s exactly the other way around.

And Stiles feels like the feelings he has for him are slowly crushing him.

He either needs to tell him or move out.

And Stiles had never been a fan of facing a problem head-on.

*

“I’m moving out, Peter.”

The other man looks up, surprise in his eyes, like he’s not sure he’s heard him right. “What?”

Stiles shuffles his feet. “I’m really grateful you let me stay with you as long as you have, but it’s time I get my life back together.”

He puts down his book, leans back into the couch. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, moving his gaze from the floor to Peter and back again.

“Then why the sudden need to leave?”

He blinks. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while now.”

“ _Why_?” Peter inquires again. “I thought you liked living here.”

“I do,” Stiles says, biting his lip. “But this… this has nothing to do with you, okay.”

“Well, forgive me if I’m skeptical,” Peter says, staring straight at him. “I think this has everything to do with me.”

Stiles can’t help but let out a disbelieving laugh. “Really, Peter? Not everything is about you.”

“I know that,” Peter says sternly. “But I think this is.”

“Well it’s not!”

“Then what is it?”

Stiles had thought this through before bringing it up, he really had, but he can’t for the life of him remember the few reasons he’d managed to come up with.

You know, if Peter wanted to hear that it was because of him, maybe he should just tell him so – tell him that he was annoying to live with, that Stiles would much rather live on his own than spend another day with him.

But he’d be lying, and no matter if Peter would know it, he couldn’t put the blame on him. Not after everything he’d done for him. Not when his heart was telling him that there was nowhere he’d rather be than with Peter.

“ Stiles,” Peter insists, “you’ve been getting your life back together while you were here. Things are good. Why would you suddenly leave that all behind?”

Stiles looks at him, wonders why now, all of a sudden, Peter is making things complicated. He’d always gone along with whatever Stiles had wanted, but now he was digging in his heels and Stiles didn’t know why.

“I’m sorry, do you have a problem with me moving out?”

“As a matter of fact I do,” Peter says, and he gets up from the couch, looks him right in the eye. “There’s absolutely no reason for you to leave, Stiles.”

“Yes there is,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Is it me?”

“I already told you, no!”

Stiles is rapidly losing his patience now, doesn’t want to get into an argument with Peter. He had just wanted to let him know that he was moving out, and now he knew, so really that should be the end of it.

“Then why, Stiles? Don’t you think you owe me an explanation?” Peter speaks calmly, but there’s a slight hint of anger in his eyes.

Stiles wonders why that is. Doesn’t consider the possibility that maybe he’s hurt.

“I just… god, Peter, please don’t make this any more difficult than it needs to be.”

“Then just tell me the goddamn truth. Just tell me.”

Stiles’ fists are clenched and he can tell he’s shaking, can tell he’s reaching his breaking point. “No, I can’t. You don’t…”

“ _Tell_ me,” Peter repeats, voice growing harsher, not moving from where he’s standing and Stiles has half the urge to just walk up to him and wrap his arms around him, bury his face in his chest, but he _can’t_.

“ _Stiles_. Don’t lie to me. Just _tell_ me why you don’t want to be around me anymore.”

And then suddenly he just breaks.

“Because I have _fucking feelings_ _for you, okay_.”

The words are rushing out of his mouth, and it’s somewhere between a whisper and a cry of frustration, and then he’s realizing that he’s just admitted to his feelings for him and horror creeps into his stomach, makes him feel sick.

He buries his face in his hands, feeling like crying but his eyes are dry, and he doesn’t know whether he wants Peter to walk up to him, comfort him, or for him to agree that it’s a good thing Stiles is moving out.

Neither happens.

Stiles looks back up at him, finding him staring, an indescribable look on his face. He’s not speaking. He’s not telling him he feels the same way, and yeah that kind of crushes the last bit of hope Stiles had had that maybe his feelings were mutual.

“You can _say_ something, you know,” he eventually chokes out, hands fidgeting.

“Please stay,” Peter says after a pause. “At least for tonight.”

“I really don’t think…” Stiles starts, but Peter interrupts him.

“ _Please_.”

“Alright,” Stiles whispers. “Just… just tonight.”

*

Stiles can’t sleep that night, is tossing and turning as he watches the hours on his alarm clock go by. Eventually, after it’s well past three in the morning, he decides that there’s just no way he’s going to fall asleep anytime soon.

He ends up wandering through the apartment. Doesn’t turn on the lights, just walks around in the dark, finding his way without fail. He’s been here for months now, knows every single detail of this place. _Peter’s_ place, he has to remind himself, because for a second it had felt like it was theirs.

He’s really going to miss it, he thinks, though not as much as he’s going to miss him. He tries to imagine living on his own again, what it will feel like.

‘Lonely’ is the only word he can come up with.

He stops his pacing in the living room, facing the huge bookcase that covers part of the wall. His fingers brush across the spines of thick books that he still wonders if Peter’s ever read of if he just keeps them around for show.

Maybe he should get him some classic novel to thank him for his hospitality. He thinks he’d like that.

Stiles tries to come up with some titles that he thinks Peter might enjoy. _Les Misérables_. _The Picture of Dorian Gray_. Maybe something by Edgar Allan Poe.

In the sparse light illuminating the room he smiles faintly when he finds every single title already on the shelves.

He stands there for a few minutes. He’s still not tired, but there’s no use in walking around the silent apartment. He should at least try to get a few hours of sleep.

He turns around, intends to return to his room.

Instead he somehow winds up in front of Peter’s.

He looks around, frowns when he realizes his mistake, swallows when it dawns on him that the subconscious really is a powerful thing.

He doesn’t want to go to his own room. He wants to be with Peter.

Shit, he should just turn around and walk away, but he feels really reluctant to actually move his feet.

Especially considering Peter is also still awake, as evidenced by the lights that are on in his room. Stiles can see it, because the door is ajar, and he can just catch a glimpse of Peter’s nightstand and an empty pillow.

He can’t see Peter but he knows he’s there, even though the place is filled with silence.

He bites his lower lip, cranes his neck in an attempt to peer a little further inside. Tries to get a little closer without his footsteps giving him away.

He isn’t exactly sure why he’s doing it. Probably a combination of him being curious and him being an idiot, because there is absolutely no reason for him to be here, much less to _stay_ here.

But he just really wants to see Peter, gaze upon him like that time in the kitchen, without him being aware.

He thinks it all may have started there. Before that it had been a purely sexual attraction; there had been absolutely no feelings involved.

And now…

God, now his feelings for him were almost killing him.

Nevertheless, there’s still not a lot Stiles can see from where he’s standing. He reaches out, lightly places a finger on the door, uses as little force as he can muster to open it a bit further without being noticed.

Either he’s gotten stronger or Peter takes really good care of his door hinges, because the door instantly opens more than he would’ve liked, and he finds Peter sitting on the side of his bed, elbows on his knees, hands folded, the same look on his face that he’d worn when Stiles had admitted to his feelings for him.

Oh, and he’s staring straight at him. So much for not getting caught.

“ _Shit_ , sorry,” he mutters, wanting to step back and flee, but his body is still unwilling and so he remains standing there, hand frozen in midair.

Peter doesn’t speak, just keeps looking at him, like he wants to say something but doesn’t at the same time.

“I’ll – I should leave,” Stiles says weakly, hand dropping to his side. There’s something about the look on Peter’s face, something that’s pulling him in. There’s no longer a hint of anger in his eyes; it seems to have been replaced with a look of pained resignation.

Or perhaps it’s been the same look all along.

“Peter…”

Peter still doesn’t answer, just continues to gaze at him. Then he finally responds; faintly smiles. “Stiles.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s okay.”

Stiles thinks about going back to his room, tries to think of an excuse to leave, but he fails to come up with one and actually doesn’t want to, either.

“Can I…” He gestures towards the bed. Peter nods. He walks over and sinks down next to him, putting shaky hands on his knees and letting out an equally shaky breath. “So.” He’s here, they’ve exchanged words; he might as well keep a conversation going. Say the last things that are on his mind.

He’ll be gone tomorrow either way.

“So indeed,” Peter mumbles, gaze returning to the wall opposite them.

“You know,” Stiles offers up, not looking at him, “you never really answered me.”

“I didn’t have an answer,” Peter plainly says.

He glances aside. “Does that mean you have one now?”

“Not really.”

His stomach twists and he feels rejected all over again. “Okay.”

“It’s not because I don’t feel something for you too, Stiles.”

He snaps towards the man next to him again, but Peter continues before he can ask him if he does.

“But I have to be honest with you… I don’t think I feel for you what you feel for me.”

“Yeah?” Stiles averts his eyes. “How do you know?”

“Stiles.” There’s a hand on his knee, Stiles forcing himself to look back up at Peter. “I think this is all a little more serious for you than it is for me.”

He laughs, and it sounds surreal. Wrong. Because it is. Everything’s wrong and he wishes he could take it all back. “You make it sound like I’m in fucking love with you or something.”

Peter’s gaze is serious, imploring, and Stiles can feel his own heartbeat speeding up. Because Peter’s looking at him like he _knows_ , like he knows better than Stiles just how deep his feelings for him ran.

“Are you?”

“No.”

But that doesn’t mean he’s going to acknowledge it. He’s been hurt enough. It’s obvious Peter doesn’t feel the same.

“So what is it _you_ feel then,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady, subtly drying his eyes with a hand that he passes through his hair in an effort to look nonchalant, because he’s tired and emotional and the last thing he needs right now is to break down in tears in front of Peter.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s not much of a fucking answer.”

“I told you I didn’t really have one.”

Stiles is silent for a moment, then resolutely pushes Peter’s hand away from his knee. He can’t bear the physical contact now, not when it’s supposed to comfort him when all he wants right now is to kiss the man sitting next to him, hear him say that the feelings are mutual, but that ship has long sailed, and it’s time to let go of his hope.

He misses the hurt on Peter’s face, the tensing of his hand when it’s removed from his leg. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” he says.

Peter just nods. Doesn’t ask him where he’ll be going, because that’s Stiles’ business, not his.

And Stiles gets up, walks straight back to his room, starts packing his things before finally collapsing onto his bed in utter exhaustion, getting a few hours of sleep before the sun rises and he leaves.

*

He stays at a hotel for a few days as he looks for an apartment. The first day on his own is quiet, strangely so; he’s lying on the bed, eyes on the ceiling, his mind occupied by painful thoughts of Peter next to him, close to him, chuckling into his ear, kissing his neck. Thoughts of him hovering over him, a wicked lustful grin on his face that was by itself more than enough to turn him on.

He thinks of Peter wrapping his arms around him one night when Stiles was still dealing with the aftermath of his breakup with Derek, words calm and soothing, telling him that he was going to be alright. And Stiles had believed him, had allowed those hands to caress him as he buried his face into his neck, not saying another word for the next hour, but Peter never let go of him.

He rolls onto his stomach, arms wrapped around his pillow. He’s only been gone a day, and it physically _pains_ him.

He wants to go back, tell him he’s made a mistake. Tell him he wants to stay. But he can’t, Stiles knows he can’t; and he shouldn’t want to. Deciding what would be the right thing to do had been easy, actually deciding to move out had been hard. But he’d done it, he’d told Peter he was leaving, and now he’s here. He’s created distance between them, he’s saved himself from the torture of constantly being near Peter without being able to act on his feelings.

Well. That’s not entirely true; after all, up until recently he had been able to kiss him, to touch him, to experience nights like their first one together over and over again. But it hadn’t been anything to Peter, not anything real – and now he knew how Stiles felt, and he’d told him he didn’t feel the same. Stiles now knew for sure that it was never going to work out between them.

He feels tears coming up but forces them back. He’s not going to cry, not over Peter, not over making the right decision to leave. He retrieves his phone out of his pocket, mindlessly clicks and exits a few apps, answers a message from Scott. Then he throws the phone onto the bed, watches the dark screen, half hoping it will light up with a message from Peter, even though he knows he shouldn’t.

Peter never leaves his mind over the following days. Stiles hasn’t found an apartment yet – to be fair, he hasn’t really been looking – so when he’s not at work he mostly just sits around his hotel room, staring at the walls, the ceiling, checking his phone every other minute. At one point he grabs it and goes to his contact list, selecting Peter’s name, finger hovering over the screen for a few seconds before pressing ‘Delete’.

When the confirmation screen comes up he presses ‘No’ and just continues to look at his picture for a minute. No, he can’t do that. Not yet. He can’t pretend he’s never known him, and he doubts he ever will.

*

Scott’s been hounding him about finding a permanent place to stay, offering his own home in the process, assuring Stiles that Allison won’t mind. He politely declines, eventually resorting to telling him he’ll “think about it” when Scott insists, and at that point Scott switches the topic of conversation.

“Hey,” he says. “So I think I might just have the thing to distract you, take your mind off things.”

Stiles had asked him what it was, and Scott had told him about Lydia’s upcoming birthday party. Stiles is a little hesitant, but his best friend sternly tells him that he can’t sit around moping all day. “You need to have some fun, Stiles. It’ll be good for you. At least you won’t be thinking about him for one night.”

In the end Stiles had agreed, and despite his best intentions promised Scott he’d come.

And who knew. Maybe Scott was right. Maybe it would be good for him, even though at the moment it felt nothing in the world could ever make him feel better.

Well. Other than Peter, that is.

*

Lydia’s birthday party is next week, and Stiles somehow manages to muster up the willpower to go. It’s not like he really has a choice, though; after all, he _did_ promise Scott.

When he gets there he’s immediately greeted by his best friend, who gives him a warm hug and shoves a drink into his hand as he lets go of him. “Glad you could make it,” he says, looking Stiles up and down, making sure he’s doing okay. “Hey come on, I’ll take you to the birthday girl. I think she’s in the kitchen.”

Before Stiles can protest Scott has taken a hold of his arm and is dragging him inside the house, maneuvering through the crowd of partying guests. Stiles lets himself be pulled along; figures that he’ll just hang with Scott the entire night, drink, talk, try to forget.

He suddenly snaps back to reality when Scott stops dead in his tracks and he bumps into him.

“Scott, what the he—”

“Shit,” he hears him say before whirling around and blocking Stiles’ path.

“Dude, what are you doing—”

“Eh, I think I saw her back at the pool,” Scott tells him, looking incredibly uncomfortable. Stiles tries to look over his shoulder, see what made him stop, why he’s suddenly so anxious to get him out of here.

Then Stiles sees it, and his face falters.

“I swear I had no idea he was going to be here,” Scott says, sounding like he was absolutely gutted – which, to be fair, he probably was after seeing the expression on Stiles’ face.

He grips Stiles’ shoulders and softly but resolutely pushes him back out into the hallway, but Stiles’ eyes never leave Peter’s face. Peter, who’d been talking with Jackson in a corner of the room. Peter, who’d looked like he was doing better than ever.

Peter, who looked up and caught his eye just as Scott pushed him around the corner.

*

“Do you wanna go home? Because I understand if you wanna go home,” Scott says after he’s sat Stiles down on the couch in the living room, because the whole way back – and it had felt like an eternity – Stiles’ body had been unwilling and uncooperative, and he thinks his legs might’ve actually given out if Scott hadn’t been there to support him.

Stiles doesn’t answer, his gaze empty and unseeing. The image of Peter, laughing, smiling, was burned into his mind, and just _god how could he have been so stupid_. Of _course_ Peter wouldn’t take this as hard as he had. _He_ had been the one in love, for god’s sake. Not Peter. And he _still is_ , and he _hates_ it, would give _anything_ to stop feeling everything that seeing him had caused to resurface.

He blinks, finally hearing what Scott is telling him, his body finally listening to him again. “I don’t wanna go home, Scott,” he says, looking up at him. “I’m – I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” He sounds as concerned as he looks, and Stiles genuinely appreciates it. Doesn’t blame him in the slightest for indirectly dragging him into this situation. All he’d wanted to do was get him out of his room; get him to enjoy himself, have a fun night out.

Damn it, he was going to have one, whether Peter was here or not. Fuck Peter. Fuck everything about him. He was going to forget about him, push those feelings back to where he’d barely be aware of them.

At least for tonight.

*

Scott never leaves his side, and Stiles is grateful for the company. He sometimes catches Scott looking around, making sure Peter’s nowhere to be found. He catches himself looking, too; and he’s not exactly sure why.

He tries to deny that it is because he just really wants to see him, and knowing that he’s somewhere around here but that he can’t go look for him feels like torture.

After an hour or so Allison comes up to them and asks Scott if she can talk to him for a minute. Scott looks at Stiles, starts telling her that he’s going to stay with him for a little longer, but the second he does Stiles shakes his head and musters up a smile.

“It’s okay, Scott, you can go.”

Scott doesn’t look like he believes him, but Stiles nudges him in his side and his smile grows a little wider. “Come on, don’t leave her waiting. I’ll stay right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

Scott returns his smile, claps him on his shoulder, then gets up and walks out of the room with Allison, looks back once to see Stiles waving at him and then he’s gone.

Stiles fidgets for a few seconds, eyes roaming across the room. It’s not terribly crowded in this part of the house, but he still doesn’t recognize anyone here. No one’s paying him any attention anyway; he’s just sitting, by himself, minding his own business, waiting for Scott to come back.

“I’ve missed you.”

The all too familiar voice coming from behind him literally makes him jump, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up both from the sudden sound and knowing _exactly_ whom that voice belongs to.

“Fuck, _Peter_ ,” he gasps as he whirls around, finding him standing right in front of him, hands folded behind his back. “You almost gave me a heart attack!”

“Sorry,” he just offers, frowning at him. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Well you did,” Stiles huffs, noticing how his heart is racing.

The longer he looks at Peter, the more he realizes that his racing heart may have little to do with the sudden scare, and all the more with the man standing in front of him.

Peter is quiet for a few moments and Stiles just looks at him, waiting for him to continue, but when almost a minute passes and he still hasn’t spoken up again, he asks him, “What do you want, Peter?”

“I want to… can we talk?” Peter says, gesturing towards an empty corner, away from all the other people in the room.

Stiles bites his lip. Nods. He’s not sure what’s going to happen – knows he shouldn’t let _anything_ happen, that he should just tell him to go, tell him to leave – but something in his brain just shuts off, and he can only follow him into the dark corner of the room, nervously shove his hands in to his pockets as he faces Peter, looking over his shoulder, into the room, to see whether Scott’s come back yet.

“Stiles,” Peter says, and Stiles’ eyes are involuntarily drawn to him. They’re on his eyes, his lips, back on his eyes again; his heart rate still abnormally high. Now that he’s looking at Peter – _really_ looking at him – he notices how his gaze is intense; _burning_.

It’s a look that he thought he’d never see again.

He barely has time to take in a deep breath to try and regain himself before he realizes how close they are standing together. And suddenly feelings he had tried so hard to push away, to pretend never existed, are washing over him all at once – suddenly he’s overcome by the immense desire to kiss him, accompanied by the crushing sensation that he _can’t_ , that this doesn’t mean to Peter what it does to him.

And maybe something shows on his face, because the look in Peter’s eyes _intensifies_ – suddenly there’s a hand on Stiles’ neck, and his lips part slightly almost unknowingly, a silent plea upon them.

 _Please_.

And then Peter’s lips are on his – and it’s a kiss unlike any they’ve shared before. Peter presses himself close, closer against him; Stiles feels his back hit the wall, Peter’s body covering every inch of his own.

Stiles’ brain now shuts off altogether. His self-restrain crumbles and he can only give in to what he wants; what he _needs_. He allows himself to kiss Peter back; to respond to his advances, even though it’s a _very bad idea_.

Because Peter’s kissing him fervently, kisses him like he’ll die if he doesn’t.

“Stiles,” he breathes when they finally break apart. Doesn’t seem to have anything else to say.

Even if Stiles wanted to answer, he couldn’t; still in shock over what just happened. He’s elated, he’s nervous, he’s _so fucking in love_ but this is _bad_ , this is _very bad_ because shit he just got sucked right back in, and he’s absolutely _frightened,_ already questioningwhat that might mean for his progress in getting over him.

Well. He hadn’t really been expecting that to happen anytime soon, had he.

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispers, looking profoundly ashamed, like he knew this was the worst thing he could’ve done and did it anyway. Or maybe he’s talking about all of this; about letting Stiles go, about getting him into this mess in the first place. He doesn’t know.

He steps away from him, moves to turn around.

“For what?”

He wants to know, though.

Peter stops, looks at him. Looks at the face of the man who is so head over heels in love with him. Stiles thinks he knows. Knows how much it hurts, how much he wants him. Knows he both wants him to stay and to leave, to kiss him and to walk away from him.

And even if Peter had wanted to walk away, his question makes him stop in his tracks.

“For kissing you,” he says, meeting his eyes.

“Did you not want to?” Stiles asks.

“I did,” Peter says, gaze never wavering.

“So did I,” Stiles counters. “So don’t apologize.”

“I’m only making it more difficult for you,” Peter says, bowing his head a little.

“Then keep things simple,” Stiles says quietly, desperation creeping into his voice. “If you…”

Peter looks at him.

“If you want to kiss me and I want to kiss you…”

His resolve had broken the second Peter had pressed his lips to his and he’s in deep, so deep, _too_ deep to pull himself back out, and so maybe he should let himself drown. Drown, stop fighting, stop waiting for someone or something to save him from the weight of his feelings crushing him. Who the fuck cares if this is the last thing he should be doing. He wants this, he wants this _so badly_ and he can have this, can have Peter, can have everything he threw away when he moved out, at least for the time being.

Peter knows, Peter _should_ know that even if they both want this, they shouldn’t be doing it, but for some reason he steps closer to him again and kisses him again and oh god, Stiles just closes his eyes and pulls him closer and allows him to be the only thing on his mind.

He doesn’t see Scott returning to the room, a faint smile on his face but concern in his eyes as he sees him with Peter. Neither does he see him when Stiles leaves the room with Peter, having answered his question of whether he wanted to leave, go back to his place with “Yes, god yes”.

The car ride is silent and feels long, way too long, even though it probably isn’t. But Stiles’ skin is itching with the anticipation of Peter’s hands all over him, the feeling of his lips against his neck, strong body pressed against his. He spends the entire time just looking at him, trying not to think about whether he’s making a mistake – he knows he is, he just doesn’t want to _think_ about it – instead tries to concentrate on the excitement swirling around inside his stomach, the stupid smile he can’t wipe off his face whenever he realizes that this is actually happening.

They’re barely inside Peter’s apartment when they pick up right where they left off before leaving the party, Peter dragging Stiles towards him and wasting no time in pulling him into the bedroom, all the while kissing him and touching him and already undressing him, and so does he. Stiles is caught in the frenzy, allows it to take over his mind.

He moans Peter’s name into his mouth, whispers his name more times than he can remember as the night progresses, as if to remind himself that he is really there, with him.

Neither of them wants to think about the implications or the _complications_ and they just take what they have right now, they take it and remember it and literally nothing matters but them.

*

They fall asleep when the sun almost rises and Stiles wakes up hours later with messed up hair and still feeling sleepy. For a moment he’s confused, tries to figure out where he is, but then he becomes aware of the familiar surroundings, of Peter’s slow breathing and the strong arm on top of his abdomen and he jerks awake, a note of panic in his stomach. His heart feels heavy; there’s a tingling of fear and happiness and longing and he immediately realizes that this is it, their night together is over, he should go, he really should.

But he doesn’t want to. _Fuck_ , he _really_ doesn’t want to. He isn’t going to leave, not right now. This is his last moment with Peter, it _has_ to be because if he doesn’t cut him out of his life completely, he’ll never stop wanting him.

Fingers trace Peter’s jaw line, trying to memorize every single detail of him, even though he already knows his body, every single line, every curve of muscle by heart. There’s a hitch in Peter’s breathing, a twitching in his arm when he wakes up, and for a fleeting moment Stiles thinks about retreating his hand, but why would he. His fingers still and Peter’s eyes flutter open, gaze at him, look curious and unsure.

But then he leans in, softly kisses him, and Stiles kisses back, endorphins surging through him, fingers moving to rest at the back of his head, entangled in the short strands of hair.

After Peter moves back, eyes focused on the bed for a second before meeting his, he says, “You don’t know how badly I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

“Pretty sure calling me would’ve been less awkward than this,” Stiles murmurs, stifling a yawn, but making no attempt to get up. If anything, his body relaxes as Peter’s fingers caress his hair, move down to his neck, trail over his arm.

“This is awkward?” Peter asks, frowning slightly.

“Nah.” It should be, but it isn’t. He nuzzles into his chest, breathing in the all too familiar smell.

The fear has slowly dissipated, and he’ll just see what happens. But this – in this moment he can’t believe he’s gone so long without seeing him, without touching him, without _talking_ to him.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you too.”

“Well, here’s your chance,” Peter chuckles. He presses a kiss to his forehead, fingers curled around his bicep.

Stiles pokes him with a finger, a spot that he knows is particularly sensitive, and Peter lets out a sound that is halfway between a laugh and a snort. “Hey, you brought it up, you go first.”

The twinkle leaves his eyes and he looks at Stiles, with a seriousness and sincerity that no longer surprises him.

“Alright… can I ask you a question first?”

Stiles nods.

Peter is quiet for a second, his voice hesitant when he finally speaks again. “Do you... still feel the same way about me?”

He bites his lip. Considers his options. Decides to go with the truth.

“Yeah.”

The corners of his lips twitch upwards, the spark coming back into his eyes. “Good.”

“Why?”

“Because I think I have that answer for you now.”

His heart is hammering in his chest, though from the looks of it, he thinks he might like that answer. He gets impatient when Peter doesn’t spit it out right away though. “Come on. Tell me.”

“I never thought I’d miss you as much as I have,” he says, fingers moving to brush over his cheek. “I think somewhere along the line I’ve fallen for you, too, but I just didn’t know how hard. I knew I liked having you around, but it didn’t occur to me that I would really hate coming home to an empty apartment after you left.”

Stiles is silent, just looks him in the eye, a little startled when Peter suddenly continues.

“I’ve really missed you, Stiles.”

Stiles leans in, kisses him again, awake and happy and feeling like he could take on the entire world, as long as he had Peter with him.

“Can I take that to mean you missed me too?” Peter chuckles after they part.

“Definitely,” he grins. “But uh, hey, at the risk of sounding cheesy… can you promise me something?”

Peter nods, eyebrows raised in question.

“Promise me from now on we won’t go this long without seeing each other ever again.”

Peter claims his lips, breathes “I promise” against them before stealing another kiss.

God, he _really_ can’t imagine ever being away from him this long again.

Stiles wraps his arms around him, rests his head against his shoulder, for a while just listens to his slow, steady heartbeat. Peter’s nose is buried in his hair, and he knows that like him earlier he’s memorizing everything he already knows about him.

Stiles isn’t sure where they’ll go from here. Doesn’t know if what Peter feels for him resembles his own feelings for him. He knows now that he loves him; has accepted it, no longer tries to fight it or deny it. And Peter has feelings for him too, feelings that go beyond lust or even friendship. Peter wants him, can’t stand being without him.

He hasn’t exactly used those words, but the way he looked at him in that dark corner last night… Stiles could still picture the look in his eyes, even though at the time he’d mostly been focused on the fact that maybe, just maybe they could go back to how things were.

And they had, though in a sense they hadn’t; things were the same, now, but slightly different.

Peter knew how he felt, and Stiles knew he felt something too. They still fit together perfectly, their sexual attraction as high as it had always been. But over the course of months something else had snuck into their relationship, and Stiles had thought it was all in his head; had thought that his feelings for him changed the way he saw things.

Thinking back on it, maybe it hadn’t. Peter had always been careful. Sweet. Thoughtful.

He suddenly had to ask him something.

“Peter?”

“Hm.”

Stiles pulls back, looks him in the eye. “The couple. You said you didn’t want to sleep with them because I wasn’t okay with it.”

“Is there a question in there somewhere?” he chuckles, hand moving to cup his face again as he looks at him.

Stiles laughs, kisses his fingers. “Yeah. Why?”

“Why what?”

He pokes him again. “Why did you care so much about whether or not I was okay with it,” he murmurs, holding his gaze.

Peter falls silent, ponders. “I don’t know,” he then says. “It just made sense. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Stiles studies him, the gentleness of his face, his voice warming his insides. It didn’t appease his curiosity though. “How did you know it would hurt me?”

“You’re asking if I knew how you felt about me,” Peter breathes. Stiles nods. “I didn’t. At least I never thought about it. Looking back on it, though… I think maybe, in the back of my mind, I had my suspicions.”

“Would you have asked me to move out if you knew?” Stiles asks.

“I thought I asked you to stay,” Peter answers.

Stiles nuzzles into his chest again. “Maybe this was for the best,” he says softly, contently.

“What was?” Peter asks, fingers trailing over his back.

“Me telling you how I felt. Moving out. Everything that led to this.” He sighs. “I _hated_ it – but at least we’re here now. You know how I feel about you.” He laughs. “And you haven’t run away screaming.”

“Look at me, Stiles.” He obliges, and Peter presses a kiss to his lips. “I think you’re right,” he whispers. “As much as I hated it – all the things at the back of my mind, things I never gave any thought – with you gone I was finally forced to consider what you are to me. And I realized it had been a long while since this was about just sex. _God_ , the mere _thought_ of sleeping with anyone other than you…”

Stiles kisses him, now, slowly, intimately. “We’ll figure this out,” he says, after he breaks away, but stays close to him.

“We will,” Peter says, stealing another kiss. “You should pack your stuff again. This is your home as much as it is mine.”

Stiles laughs, the smile lighting up his eyes. “Are you kidding me? I haven’t _un_ packed yet.”

“Even better,” Peter grins before leaning in to kiss him again.

Stiles stops him, though; places a hand on his chest, a smirk on his face. “Maybe we should get some breakfast, first,” he tells him, before pecking his lips lightly. “If it were up to me I would never leave this bed again, but a man’s gotta eat. I’m _starving_.”

Peter snorts, obviously not as hungry as Stiles, but he gets up from the bed nevertheless to put on some clean boxers and a T-shirt. He turns around to look at him questioningly, finding Stiles sprawled across the bed, eyes on him as he got dressed. He smirks amusedly at him; undoubtedly would’ve crawled right back in if Stiles would’ve let him.

Stiles tells him he’ll be there in a minute and waits until he’s sure he’s in the kitchen, then follows his example and puts on some clothes before making his way over there on tiptoes. He doesn’t immediately enter though; leans against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.

Peter’s drinking coffee from one of the two mugs on the table, his hair sticking up in various places. There’s a warm, tingling feeling in his chest when he remembers the last time he’d looked at him liked this. When he’d realized that there was so much more to him than met the eye.

He’d just never thought he would end up falling so hard for him.

“What are you thinking?” Peter asks, not looking up at him, and Stiles smiles.

“That I lied before.”

His eyes meet his. “About what?”

He walks over to where he’s sitting, leaning down to wrap an arm around him and kiss his cheek. “About not being in love with you,” he tells him quietly, moving to straighten himself but Peter turns around to grab him by the back of his neck, pressing his lips against his.

“What?” Stiles asks, his ears reddening slightly and his lips twitching into a grin at the incredibly fond look Peter gives him when they part.

“Nothing,” he says, “I just… I like the way that sounds.”

He pulls Stiles into his lap, finding his lips again, coffee forgotten and going cold, and Stiles can’t stop grinning, can’t stop the feelings bubbling in his chest, his abdomen, spreading all throughout his body.

Peter doesn’t tell him he loves him then, but it doesn’t take long before he does. And _Stiles_ loves the sound of _that_ , tells him _I love you, I love you_ in between kisses, the feelings too big to keep inside, now.

He loves him. He loves him with all his heart, and Peter loves him back. And suddenly love doesn’t seem so painful anymore, like a bitter, nasty thing. With Peter it’s beautiful and pure and so bright that it’s almost blinding.

And Peter feels the same. He knows that, now; knows that Peter knows it too. He tells him when Stiles leaves for work in the morning, whispers it into his ear when his face is buried into his chest, says it affectionately as Stiles’ head is lying in his lap, his fingers playing with his hair.

Stiles doesn’t regret anything that’s happened. Doesn’t regret his previous relationship, doesn’t regret ending it. Has _never_ regretted expressing his wish to sleep with Peter or to sleep with him _again_.

After all, everything has led to this. And for that, he is incredibly thankful.

Today, he’s the happiest he’s ever been.


End file.
